Elementary SceneKitty and Joan
by xxyzz
Summary: A single scene. A new understanding for Joan Watson


This is just one scene; one in which Kitty Winter faces Joan with unknown facts about her last days with Sherlock. Joan may feel hurt and betrayed because of Sherlock's abrupt departure, but Kitty knows, because of her time digging into secret MI-6 files while with Sherlock in Europe, truths behind many of the things that happened. From Kitty's point of view, Joan is almost as bad as Moriarty (who she refers to as Irene) in regards to how it affected Sherlock, and she wants only to see any few remaining good feelings between Joan and Sherlock destroyed. She wants to replace them all.

Joan should return to her place beside Sherlock, but not out of pity for him, Sherlock cap-in-hand. She should want it enough to fight for it. That is why Kitty in this scene she is not a cheap knock-off version of Joan, but Watson 2.0. Joan should see that she was replaced by something that may be superior to her and who, at least at first blush, appears to be his perfect partner, bringing to the table not only her own excellence detective skills but an ability to meld with him and raise his skills to new heights.

This scene is the beginning of Joan's foundations being shaken regarding Sherlock.

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Sherlock stepped away from Kitty to find a spot to mediate on the conflicting information they had just received. He couldn't speak about it now—she knew that, but she knew she could review the information that they already had. He'd come up with something—he always did—and she wanted to be ready.

She was thinking over the problem too and hadn't paid attention that the conference room was occupied by Joan until she had walked into the room. She had on glasses, reviewing photos of the crime scene with a magnifying glass. Kitty sat on the other side, far end, and picked up a folder and began to read without a hello.

Joan pretended that Kitty's dislike of her didn't affect her, but it did radiate, warming up the air in the room, making everything feel close and uncomfortable.

Joan was also increasingly aware of how Sherlock and Kitty worked together. Whereas she and Sherlock often would go back and forth on various pieces of information, she seeing herself as a counterbalance to his thoughts and ideas, Kitty and Sherlock were like a wolf pack of two. They moved, thought and behaved like they shared a single mind. Kitty's mind was as quick, in some respects, as Sherlock's was. Sherlock would have only to lock eyes with Kitty and she would seem to understand the import of the look. Often she would write something in her notebook, pull out her phone to take a picture or point to something that corresponded to that look of his. They would share a smile when this happened and then they would say something to Gregson or Bell, tagging off of each other rapidly, filling in the spaces of the other. Just as often they would merely leave with barely an 'adieu' and come back with answers.

Now Joan knew that she was good. Sherlock had taught her well and she had more of the social requirements that were expected which made many on the force actually like her more, but she knew that Sherlock was still the master—and he had learned much in their time together, more aware of his place in a group, and how to behave in it. But still, his powers of deduction had increased since his time with Kitty began. His abilities bordered on the uncanny. She, who knew him so well, was finding herself in awe.

Kitty read something and picked up her phone and began typing away. Verifying some piece of information to be true or filling in a blank no doubt. Then she closed her eyes, Joan despite herself, couldn't help but watch her. Her eyes were darting around beneath her lids. Her head moved slightly this way and that, as she watched whatever the scene she had pictured. Perhaps she was searching, her hands moved a bit and her head dipped.

"The bedroom photo you're looking at is a waste of time," Kitty said abruptly, eyes still closed, "they pretended to have slept there overnight to give themselves an alibi. They rumbled the blankets and the pillows for show, but there are no indentations in the sheets or the pillows. No head marks, no body marks that would obviously be there if they really had slept there and had to leave in the hurry they claimed they had."

Joan knew something was off about the picture and was working it through when Kitty said this. "I figured as much," was all she would say in reply.

"Then why are you still bothering with it?" Kitty demanded.

"Kitty, we're working together on this case, not against each other. This isn't a competition."

Kitty opened her eyes and looked at Joan as though she had said the stupidest thing in the world, "This very much is a competition. I won't have Sherlock made to look a fool because of you."

"What are talking about? Why are you acting like this?"

"It's simple really, because I despise you."

Joan was taken aback, not just by the strong words but the stronger emotions that accompanied them, but she tried to get ahold of herself. "I'm sorry you feel that way. But it's the case that's most important now. Anything that you and Sherlock may feel can be put aside until it's over— perhaps then we can clear the air."

"Do you honestly think that Sherlock speaks to me about you? Apart from the work, he never mentions your name. You hurt him—almost as bad as Irene did. But he'll never admit it. Yes, I know about Irene. I worked hard to get him to open up to me yet he never speaks of you other than to say that you helped him when he needed it most. But no other word will he speak about you. I found him nearly lost—I won't see him in your clutches again, especially after I learned the truth."

Joan felt a fist in her chest when Kitty told her she had hurt him almost as much as Irene. She had felt the betrayed one when he left so abruptly. She thought him a selfish boy, only wanting things his own way. To hear he wouldn't even speak of her made her feel terrible. For some reason Irene's letter-writing campaign came to mind, her attempt to try to remain in Sherlock's life. But then she wondered how much Kitty actually knew about Irene, and just what was this 'truth'?

The question must have played in her face because Kitty gave a scornful laugh, "I was wondering if you'd have the nerve to ask it. Yes, there is a truth, several in fact that you never knew."

"During our time together in MI-6, Sherlock took me to asset "meetings" I'd guess you'd call them. I have certain skills, and, when I was allowed to step away from time to time, I found some very interesting information about Sherlock and Mycroft—and you." Kitty stopped a beat or two to let the words have their impact and then continued, "Yes, you. MI-6 has quite interesting file on you. Joan Watson-always looking for a man. All the while you were with one of the greatest minds that has ever lived. They used that, and your dalliance with Mycroft, to drive the wedge between you and Sherlock."

Joan's eyes went wide. Kitty's expression was contemptuous of it. Joan could hear the words as if spoken aloud, "did you really think they didn't know about it?"

Having landed her first blow, Kitty leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable for her next charge. "Did you know that when Sherlock had to make the choice to go back to London or stay in New York it was actually because Mycroft was following on orders from MI-6 to get Sherlock out of America so they could carry on their operations without worrying about his interference? Mycroft had never even spoken to their father, much less relayed his father's disapproval of Sherlock's living here. When that didn't work Mycroft decided to use your little tryst in London, your never-ending search for "love," to unstable Sherlock. It was felt that without you as his anchor Sherlock could be more easily managed, no matter what the cost to him, and it would have worked too if you hadn't been stupid and gotten yourself caught by Le Milieu."

"Did Sherlock even tell you that he did all the work that was needed to rescued you?" Kitty read Joan's face as clearly as if she had said the word, "No, I doubted he had. Mycroft's file was very detailed about Sherlock's skills in those dark hours. Sherlock battled world banks, governments and assassins to get to you. He nearly tortured a man to get the information he needed to save your life. All Mycroft did was follow him around and then, just as Sherlock was going to call the NSA in to secure your release—Mycroft stun-gunned his own brother and took the information." Kitty looked pass Joan and put her hand over her mouth. Should she tell her the rest? She couldn't help it, anger made her speak, "Sherlock woke up alone, beside himself in fear for you, because in that moment, he didn't know if Mycroft was working on order from Le Milieu, or was keeping the precious information for himself. He couldn't even be bothered to leave a message on Sherlock's phone to spare him pain. Sherlock went to the NSA and begged them for your life—but they wouldn't help him. He was about to plead with Captain Gregson when your phone call finally came. Not even then would Mycroft put his brother out of misery in regard to you."

This couldn't be true, Joan kept repeating to herself. This had to be wrong. "And you, how can you know this?"

Kitty's eyes were still on a point pass Joan. Her voice came out quiet, as though his pain were her own that moment: "Sherlock was debriefed." Then the anger immediately returned and she narrowed her eyes back on her target, "Do you wonder now why Mycroft didn't tell you about getting back into MI-6 to 'save' his brother? You ran to him like a silly school girl—all the while Sherlock was saving his life, in gratitude for MI-6 saving yours. You cried over Mycroft when he—was gone. But you left Sherlock while alive and, as I found out, asking you to stay." Kitty stopped abruptly, stood and gathered her folders, files and photographs. She stuffed them in her bag furiously and slung it on her shoulder, turned to leave, then turned one more time to Joan—who sat quietly trying to absorb the revelations that she had been hit with, one behind another.

"You-you cried over a man that tried to destroy his own brother and kissed you for queen and country—all because he flirted at you and cooked you a meal. Yes, I despise you Joan Watson, because you never deserved Sherlock Holmes, and in my opinion, you never will."

With that Kitty left. She didn't wait to see its affect, she no longer cared. She wanted Joan out of Sherlock's life permanently. If only she could break that thin line they still shared—she would do whatever it took to accomplish it.

Joan still sat there, case forgotten, color drained from her face and cold running through her veins. Kitty stepped three steps beyond the door and Sherlock came around the corner in that moment. He looked to Kitty and she quickened her step to get to him, Joan knew she didn't want Sherlock to see the state that Kitty had left her in, and Sherlock began to speak excitedly about some discovery he had made. He gave Kitty one of his silly grins and turned to follow Kitty as she walked away from Joan's view.

Scales had fallen from Joan's eyes. She was seeing things and experiencing the pain of new discoveries. Questions she had never thought to wonder about—why hadn't she wondered about them? And a new loss, greater than she expected, settled on her. She had never truly known what she had lost with Sherlock until that moment. Whereas she had felt—some justification with her pain before—now all she felt was the pain.

Her phone rang and her boyfriend's face appeared in the caller-ID. She couldn't help it, she sent the call to voicemail. She couldn't trust her voice to be steady. Her eyes welled with water and a tear rolled down her cheek and she whispered aloud:

"Oh Sherlock, what have I done?"


End file.
